The Spider's Web
by thesepeopleareus
Summary: The somewhat normal routines for the Akatsuki take a turn for the worse when a fierce sibling rivalry between The Goddess of Chaos and Destruction and The God of Death begins to interrupt the flow of their everyday criminal activity.
1. The spinning

_Well, here is somewhat sequel-ish goodness to _Deidara's Happy Story_, even though you don't really need to have read that to fully understand what's going on. Eris and Ripowal, as you will probably guess, are my OCs, as are Maddie and Michiko._

_**Necessary Background Information:** Maddie is a ghost, and was the first ghost. She was killed by Eris, who felt marginally bad about it (seeing as it was an accident) and brought her back. Fast forward three years, there is a Deidara/Michiko/Itachi triangle_. _Michiko basically tells Itachi to go and kill himself, and he does (which surprised her). However, Maddie found him before he actually left the world of the living and forced him to come back as a ghost. Michiko, realizing Itachi is still around, completely abandons Deidara who, in a roundabout way, asks Eris to kill him. She obliges. _

_The rest you can find out if you read this._

* * *

The Spinning

Ripowal sighed a disappointed sigh, trailing the tip of his scythe absently through the diluted mud and disturbing the moving image held there. He held the scythe near its top with his left hand while his face rested in his right, staring at the spreading ripples. One might have thought him trying in vain to catch a glimpse of his long lost love, were he not The God of Death. He could have been _so_ many things were he not The God of Death.

But no, Ripowal was sighing over the loss of a soul.

A soul called Deidara.

Ripowal sighed because he felt cheated. He was not prone to violent tantrums like his little sister, Eris, Goddess of Chaos and Destruction, instead feeling a great regret and sense of loss. Those tantrums were part of the reason Eris had been banished to the actual physical realm of mortals such as Deidara, though he was beginning to regret that decision.

His sister had, in the span of a mere three years, cost him just as many souls. He would never have Deidara, especially now that he had faded, but neither would he ever have Maddie or Itachi. Technically it was not her fault he could not have Itachi, because Maddie had detoured the man back to world of the living, but it was solely Eris' fault Maddie was ghost, and consequently her fault Itachi was now a simple spirit as well.

And even if Ripowal had been the one to send Deidara back as a ghost, it was only because Eris had killed him. He had assumed Deidara was an annoyance to Eris, and that was why he had sent him back. He had not expected to find, watching his basin of seeing mud expectantly, that Deidara was in actuality a pawn Eris used to create the chaos that kept her happy.

To think it all could have been avoided if he had only looked at the clipboard! His clerks had told him Deidara was dead because of Eris, and he had jumped to conclusions. Only in his later confusion had Ripowal actually _read_ Deidara's Death Board and found, under Cause of Death, "Eris – Assisted Suicide".

And he had snuck a judicious peek into the past to find that the suicide itself had been inspired by a half bat-demon vampire thing/girl named Michiko. He knew this information was important because looking at the past was "bad". It was a privilege reserved for Epochryo, The God of Time. It had given him the same feeling as sending back Deidara.

He could tell it was really bad not because he felt a little bad about it, but because it felt _so good_.

Sighing again, this time at his own folly, Ripowal pushed himself away from the gothic stone basin that he realized – in his critical mood – looked strangely like a birdbath. Obviously only the most evil of birds would bathe their, but still, it bothered him.

Scowling halfheartedly, he slapped his free hand across the surface of the watery mud, sloshing a pathetic amount over the edge and into the sunken floor around its base that acted like a bowl.

Other gods chose water for observing mortals or anything else more interesting than their own lives (which admittedly was not very hard to find), or some other more ethereal, mysterious liquid. Ripowal chose watered down mud, because that what life was to him.

Life was a muddle, dirty, filth, and slipped right through one's fingers. Except Ripowal kept his hands cupped and caught them all as they dripped into death, finally coming to a stop.

And the one Eris had wanted back the most would actually be the only one to come to an eventual halt, because he had not required an immaterial form when his soul was returned. Because she had kept the body, but it was the soul she needed, wanted.

It had been a most curious case, in retrospect. The body had been perfectly preserved, even in life. The soul called Sasori had been returned to its container, which had not changed like other corpses. Maybe that was because he had not left a corpse upon his expiration, merely a shell, so there had been nothing capable of being changed after his death in the first place.

So after a good amount of time passed, Ripowal would get Sasori back. The thought brightened his mood briefly, but the permanent loss of Deidara loomed up again and put a rival damper on it once more.

Eris had cost him Deidara, Itachi, Maddie, and for however brief a time, Sasori. He had been loath to give the puppet master back because it would count as a victory to Eris, thus felt like a loss to him.

And the only thing he held in common with his sister was that he hated to lose.

But when she had come for Sasori she had made a convincing point; the last time she had wanted to keep one of his newly acquired souls he had not even considered that as an option. She had even challenged him, even when she knew he never lost, but he had proclaimed her challenge null and void. Because even though she was a pain in the ass, she was still his sister, and once she lost she would have ceased to exist… Although now that she was costing him so many souls he began to wonder whether her sudden disappearance would have been such a bad thing…

She had won, in the end. Tired of her nagging and whining and pleading, Ripowal had given Sasori back, though by that point he had held so much contempt for his pretentious sibling he had not handed off the soul, rather tossing it lightly and secretly hoping she would miss. It would have served her right to be forced to watch in horror as the poor soul that had somehow fallen under the misfortune of becoming the object of her twisted affections was absorbed into the fabric of eternal death.

Come to think of it, the last one before Sasori she had wanted to keep – a Master Tsuboya, had it been? – had also been boxed into the unfortunate position of absorbing Eris' parody of love.

He had been an artist of some kind as well, correct? A painter, perhaps? Ripowal drifted along several inches above the floor toward the Special Room; the room where souls he took pride in were collected after they first arrived in their designated circle of hell. He gathered great intellects, great philosophers, great artists, all people who left a lasting imprint on their worlds.

Sometimes, even, when he felt the strange and pressing need for company and his underlings were not satisfactory, he would bring one from its place and hold a conversation with it. Most of these eventually devolved into arguments as the former mortals' viewpoints began conflicting too heavily with his own, but while they lasted Ripowal was sure he experienced something paramount to a heaven.

All things considered, he had kept Tsuboya here. Not because he was an artist, or even because he dabbled in philosophy, but because this particular soul had marked a victory over Eris. He had come here now because he felt a plan forming, growing, stretching its wings and tasting the air.

This room was kept dark: due to the souls' natural shine, no artificial light was needed. They were perfect, rainbow glittery spheres kept balanced on stands and set up like trophies, though they more resembled – what did mortals call them…? Ah, yes: snow globes.

Eris loved chaos, did she not? Indeed, it was the very thing that kept her alive.

Ripowal mused over this as he ventured deeper into the recesses of the room, finding at last, in the darkest corner, the brightest soul. It glimmered when he picked it up, worming around inside its container, as if it could sense his intent.

It made him grin.

Finally, after some impatient prompting from his fingertips, the soul began to stretch and expand, growing slowly to the full size of its former host. As it changed, Ripowal readied his scythe, positioning it to slice through the gap between worlds just before the soul called Tsuboya reached its zenith.

Eris loved chaos, but she hated to be the one affected by it. Her personal happiness depended on the suffering of others. Her own suffering, however, was something no one had witnessed in ages.

As the soul called Tsuboya stretched its arms and blinked, Ripowal tore through to the world Eris occupied. The Tsuboya stared at the diagonal void intently, seemingly unaware that it was being sucked closer even as it wondered. Once it had vanished and the wound in space had resealed itself, Ripowal clapped his hands across one another briskly, as if dusting them off. Then he vacated the Special Room and returned to his birdbath of mud, which had already absorbed once more the little puddle he had removed from it earlier. Staring earnestly at its surface as a picture began to form, he could not help but grin at his own cleverness.

He awaited what would happen, what events would unfold, when Eris' other object of most likely one-sided affection was unexpectedly returned. Would he form the necessary thir point of a new love triangle, like Deidara had? Because he might have worried about his little sister if he had harbored the paternal feelings most older brothers were gifted with. After all, triangles were dangerous shapes. Their corners were sharp; perfectly deadly, as Deidara had proven.

If not handled properly, someone could get hurt...

* * *

_Well, that's that. Once I find out what happens next I'll be sure to write it up and post for you._


	2. The Bait

Well, here's the next bit

_Well, here's the next bit. Sorry if the beginning is slightly confusing, but Tsuboya doesn't exactly have the most clear thought process…_

_Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

The Bait

Tsuboya blinked.

He stared blankly at the darkness all around him, not really seeing it. He was trying to figure out what was going on.

The last thing he really remembered… was… fire. Fire and… burning… and pain. Unspeakable pain. And darkness… ash, clogging… scratching his lungs… burning in every breath. Dying. He had died. He was dead.

What was he doing here?

Tentatively, afraid of what he would find, he told his arm to move, and it moved. Digesting this information quickly, he reached out at the shadows around him and moved through them easily enough. He pulled his arm back to him and watched in relief as it slipped back out of the shadows it had disappeared into, falling back to his side.

Optimistic, he stretched out his legs and found they too melted through the shadows, but after a certain point they vanished completely from his field of vision. Startled, he pushed his arm out farther and found it also got cut off after an allotted distance.

Was he in a hell? Some sort of eternal blackness surrounding him, like a cage?

No, he remembered being there. The lines, and the clipboard woman asking him… questions. And then there had been a calm, compressed coolness. A short bliss, and then, nothing. Like a white wall in his mind.

And just then, there was a face. Grey, ashen eyes, pallor, skeletal grin. Scythe, and a whirling gash in the air…

_Stupid,_ he thought scornfully. _No such thing as wounds in the sky._

Carefully, he tried to move forward and discovered he glided. He frowned slightly, puzzled, and continued the drifting motion until his extended arm started to disappear again. He waved it back and forth for a while until he was sure it was still all there, then pushed his head slowly forward.

Tsuboya shrunk back when he was met by a blinding light, rubbed his eyes thoroughly. He blinked until the white spot in his vision faded, then launched himself out of the dark box.

He had not anticipated the low wall laying in wait for him. He winced and put his arms up, bracing for a solid impact… that never happened…?

Tsuboya lifted his head and opened his eyes, finding himself in another darkness. He scowled and turned, gliding back the way he was sure he had come. He entered the light again, and turned around.

In front of him was the same wall; maybe four feet tall, made of wood, with a gleaming lip protruding above his head. He stretched in an attempt to see the top, but instead lifted off the ground entirely and overshot the edge. He wound up inches away from what looked like a ceiling, and he now had a bird's eye view of what appeared to be a kitchen.

_The fire was getting closer, but one of the assistants was still in the scullery. He tried to reach him, save him, but the flame was like a monster hell-bent on swallowing both of them whole. It attacked his skin, set him ablaze, closed around him, billowing and roaring in his ears. _

Tsuboya blinked again, shocked by the violent memory. Vivid, lively, but now hidden behind that blasted wall once more.

Perplexed beyond all reason, he lowered himself to the counter that faced opposite a large box pushed against the wall. The ledge provided an inviting spot to sit, which he planned to take full advantage of. When he was about to come to a stop against its clean surface, he kept going into darkness again.

Irritated now, he shot out again and glared back at the black shadows only to see, instead, the counter. He got a weird feeling in his gut, looking at that seemingly innocent countertop. It hid a darkness beneath its shining exterior he was sure counters weren't supposed to harbor.

He reached out to run a hand across it and watched it fade straight through. Something finally clicked into place in his mind.

_It isn't fully substantial,_ he thought. _It isn't really there. It's like the ghost of a counter._

Proud of his realization, he beamed at himself in the vague reflection of the counter. He saw something else in the background, something darker, and whirled.

There was a door.

He glided over to it more quickly now that he had gotten used to the feel, and reached down to open it.

His hand passed through the handle.

So there was a ghost door, too. Was everything here a ghost of something real? He decided to find out.

He shot through the door itself and stopped himself before he ran into another wall, this one actually leading all the way up to another ceiling. He was sure they were ghosts as well, and moved along to the left, absorbing everything around him.

The place seemed almost normal, except for the fact that there was no sign of life. No presence made itself known to him, no one to be seen. A sound, though, reared up on him suddenly: slightly raised voices, arguing fiercely and yet quietly.

Turning a corner, he drifted to a stop and cocked his head to one side.

There was a girl, except her feet didn't touch the floor, and instead of hands protruding from the ends of her sleeves, there were ribbons. Ten ribbons, five per sleeve, which seemed to act as fingers.

What was even more odd was that he could see right through her, and was thus able to see the person she was arguing with. He was tall – too tall – and he was blue. Literally. His skin was blue and his face was graced with beady eyes, sharp teeth and gills. Gills! What kind of person had _gills?_

They had been arguing over something, and the girl continued to do so, but the blue man had spotted him and faded from the conversation, openly staring at him with obvious confusion. Eventually the girl turned as well, and when she noticed him her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open a little.

It wasn't so much the fact that they stared at him that bothered Tsuboya; it was the _way_ they stared at him, like he had two heads. Even if he _had_ grown an extra head, he still felt he couldn't have compared to their own strange features.

The silence survived while they continued to stare at him and he remained motionless, watching them carefully.

"You're a ghost," he blurted suddenly, almost tripping over his tongue in the process.

The girl scowled back at him. "You're one to talk."

"What?" Then her words sunk in. "I'm no ghost."

"I beg to differ," she retorted immediately. "I can see right through you."

Tsuboya looked down at his hand and was startled to find that he could see through himself, too. He could see the floor through his hand.

And suddenly everything made a lot more sense. Now that he actually thought about it, it was much more likely that he was a ghost than the alternative, which meant everything else was a ghost.

"So… I'm not dead?" he asked the girl.

"Not quite. But you're not alive, either. We walk a fine line, you and I."

He remembered something, a question, something he had always wondered about as a child. "Do we… fade though each other, or can I actually touch you?"

The other one, the blue one, made a strangled sound reminiscent of a laugh. The girl scowled at him intensely. "You have that capability, but that doesn't mean I'll let you," she sniffed.

He realized he must have worded something incorrectly, which he amended with a quick duck of his head. "I'm sorry."

The girl turned her head back to the blue man. "What a novel approach, Kisame: he actually _apologizes _when he does something wrong!"

"_I_ apologized," the man grumbled insincerely, shooting Tsuboya a short glare that demanded, "What are you trying to do, make me look like a barbarian?"

He ducked his head again in contrition, which seemed to surprise the one apparently called Kisame.

"Shouldn't we tell Sir Leader?" the girl asked snidely of Kisame.

"Oh yeah, you go do that."

"What? Why me?"

"Because you don't have to stay in the halls, genius."

"…Fine!" she snapped in surrender, darting away through a wall. "See if I care!"

Tsuboya was still staring after her at the wall when Kisame interrupted his daze.

"Why don't you follow me." He made it sound like an order, not a request.

He followed the blue one silently, not missing a single opportunity to observe something new. In time they entered a room much larger than anything he had expected, and Kisame settled down to wait, not giving him a second glance. Tsuboya floated long the walls and ceiling, looking at everything, making note of it in his mind.

And then people started filtering into the room.

First there was one that startled him, with a large triple-bladed scythe. It was the scythe that scared him more, because he remembered a scythe. But the man didn't match; his eyes were purple, while the eyes burned into his mind were dead grey. There followed a man in a mask, whose eyes were green, but instead of being surrounded by white, the sclera was black.

What kind of freaks were housed here?

Next came someone with something resembling a venus flytrap around his head, except the concept was so ludicrous Tsuboya couldn't bring himself to believe it. Then the ghost girl returned, leading two people, one with a poof of bright orange hair and covered in piercings, and the other with a flower adorning her blue hair.

And then there was someone else he could see through, a red-eyed man who drifted in with a girl possessed of paper-white skin and solid black eyes. He could tell they were together just by the way they moved, shifting slightly as they automatically adjusted to the other's changes in position.

Then came another two. One more girl who didn't touch the floor, except he couldn't see through her. She had small black wings as well, but she didn't appear to use them in any way, shape or form. With her was one with a soft shock of wine red hair and lazy, half-closed eyes. He seemed the most normal of the bunch.

"Well?" the pierced one demanded. "What is it we're supposed to find out?"

Smugly, the ghostly girl Tsuboya had first met pointed straight up to his position near the high ceiling of the room. Everyone followed her finger and inevitably found him, and when they did they stared.

He recognized one of the upturned faces; the girl with wings and long hair that perpetually shimmered somewhere between blonde and black.

_She had found him in the ashes, badly burned and barely breathing. She was crying, salty tears stinging his raw-cooked skin like acid. She tried to fight for him, breathe some of her own precious life into him, but he stopped her. She was worth more than him, in so many ways…_

Eris? Sweet, sweet little Eris, who had always been such a huge help? …But what was she doing here? …How long had he been gone…?

And who was everyone else? Who was the other ghost man, and the girl? _Who was the red-haired boy she was with? _

But apparently the pierced one had questions of his own.

"Where did you come from?"

"I'm not quite sure," he replied politely, "but I think it was the odd box in your kitchen."

This sent them all muttering. Shouldn't they know what he was referring to? After all, it was their own box.

Eris tore her eyes away from him and got their attention, drawing them all in closer, glancing quickly up at him once before she began speaking. Tsuboya couldn't hear her, though, and began lowering himself until he hovered right above her.

But by the time he reached his new position she was done, it appeared. They lifted their heads to look up at him again and were startled to find him closer than before.

"What the fuck?" the one with the scythe exclaimed. Then, looking at him more closely, he smirked and nudged the red-haired one, nodding at Tsuboya. "Dude, seriously; notice any similarities?"

The nudged looked up and examined him closely, eyes widening very briefly before an impassive scowl made its home on his face. He turned and used it on Eris, who smiled widely back at him in a very forced and panicked way.

"Everyone," she said, taking control of the group, "Master Tsuboya." She looked up at him and grinned. "Master Tsuboya, everyone."


	3. The Tangling

_Yes, after ages and ages, I am back! Returned with writing from Texas! I'm only allowed an hour a day, so things have been kind of slow. I know most of you probably don't care, because unlike me you have lives outside reading and writing, but I'll tell you anyway! Muhahahaha! …And now I'm done. Please, read on. :D_

* * *

The Tangling

Ripowal sighed, but this time in annoyance.

Why was it taking Tsuboya such a long time to acclimate? Mortals, was it really _that_ hard? Even _Deidara_ had adapted fairly quickly. …Then again, Deidara had already been familiar with the base when he had unceremoniously returned the unwitting ghost. What could he have expected from someone who had no idea where he was, much less what was going on?

Aside from his hatred of losing, Ripowal also harbored a less prominent hatred of waiting.

It did not make itself evident very often, for Ripowal was not made to wait very often. At least, not _really_. His rut was a state of perpetual waiting – waiting for mortals to die, and such. But the suddenness of his decision to send Tsuboya to Eris had reminded him of what instant gratification felt like, and now he wanted more. He was no longer content with simple waiting.

Ah, Tsuboya had finally found his way out of the kitchen. Ripowal's attention was reabsorbed by a movement in the mud, and he propped his elbows on the edge of the basin, watching almost eagerly.

The new ghost had found Maddie. Maddie, the other one he would never have. It ate at him, but he would not allow it to detract from his experience. He shoved the ache out of his mind and focused on the two ghosts, only vaguely aware of the one called Kisame in the edge of the picture. After a brief discussion Maddie zipped off to find their Leader, and Kisame ordered Tsuboya into their main hall.

While they waited, Ripowal waited. And while Ripowal waited, his pale fingers made imprints in the rod of his scythe. His grip was impatient and white-knuckled, but that didn't mean much when one realized that Ripowal's knuckles were always white.

Slowly, oh so painstakingly slowly, the others drifted into the room like wanton leaves, blowing in whenever the moment suited them. It was infuriating, but Ripowal didn't even blink, so intent was he on seeing all that unfolded in his murky vessel. Finally, he had something to look forward to! There were no words to describe how badly he wanted to see Eris' reaction, watch her expression as her petty semblance of a life began to crumble around her. (And that was certainly saying something, given that as God of death he knew everything the dead knew, and the dead knew everything. They just didn't give a damn.)

He was so unused to this feeling of… of… _anticipation_… It was amazing, but alarming. He felt torn between wanting this feeling of power over his domineering sibling to go on forever and wanting to watch her suffer _now_. If he had had a heart it probably would have been sputtering wildly in his chest, but as he did not, he simply stared with wide eyes at the pool of mud.

A devilishly perturbing smirk crept across his face while he watched everything start to happen at once.

* * *

Eris didn't really know what to think. She was ecstatic, puzzled, and worried at the same time. Ecstatic that Tsuboya was back, puzzled that he was back at all, and worried about… worried about…

Sasori.

Dammit.

The glare he'd sent her was telling. Indeed, it was telling her, "I have noticed that I bear a striking resemblance to this ghost from your past. The significance of this has not flown over my head and made a little whistling noise."

It was all she could do to respond with a wide smile that asked, "Could we discuss this later, when there aren't witnesses?"

He replied by making a portentous arch of one his thin eyebrows. "Very well," it said. "But you're on thin ice, which will soon drop you into hot water."

She let her expression fall softly. "I'm toast?" the subtle change asked.

"No," his smirk answered. "You're all washed up."

Eris sighed silently, glancing back at Tsuboya, who was hovering there expectantly while at the same time managing to appear perfectly confused. Her eyes flicked back to Sasori, who was now stolidly ignoring her without actually looking away from her. To anyone else it would have looked perfectly normal, but _she_ could tell he wasn't really looking at _her_, but more a like a point several feet beyond and her face just happened to be in the way.

She loved that; the way they could hold entire conversations without speaking once. Well, Michiko and Itachi could do that, too, but they cheated. They just spoke directly into the other's mind instead of out loud. She and Sasori carried long arguments with simple alterations of their expressions.

Something… _odd_ happened sometimes, though, even if it didn't happen often.

It was like he went into lockdown mode or something, and he didn't come out of it unless of his own volition. He didn't listen, he didn't look, and she was tempted to believe he didn't even think. Not quite catatonic, but not fully _there_, the only thing she could really do was slap him around a bit – physically and verbally – in hopes that it would jolt him. The longest one had lasted… oh, about a week. That had been horrible.

Tsuboya had never done that to her. Then again, Tsuboya had never paid enough attention to her for his brief recessions from reality to really faze her. He had never really been listening, it seemed, because how else had he avoided picking up the hint? _Seriously?_ Even for being exceptionally bright and having an excellent eye for color, he hadn't picked up on the fact that she had kind of sort of maybe almost fallen for him hard enough to leave an impression in hard rock.

Which was exactly why she wanted to get out of there. She could explain to Sasori, with Tsuboya out of earshot, how he had never returned those feelings and she had gotten over them. Almost. Maybe. Sort of. Kind of. At least, she could _tell_ him that. She was a goddess, after all; she didn't necessarily need to tell the _whole_ truth, did she? No…

And if she didn't insert the tiniest bit of lie imaginable for him to latch on to, it would be even worse. She was afraid even now that anything she said would just bounce right off and not alter his perception of the situation. He already looked at Tsuboya like the ghost had a sign hanging around his neck that read, "Threat".

_It _will_ get better,_ she told herself. _It couldn't possibly get any_ worse.

All she had to do was act perfectly normal, and everything would be fine.

Except Tsuboya smiled at her, and her heart fluttered while she smiled back, which earned her another dark glare.

_Sasori: 1. Eris: 0,_ she told herself sternly. _Win, damn you: _win!

She was snapped out of her mental imitation of a pep talk when Tsuboya floated closer, and out of sheer pity and maybe a little bit of instinct she dropped down to his level of immateriality so he could perform his customary greeting. She then realized this was not the best idea at that given point in the development of Tsuboya's arrival, but by the time she tried to avoid it she couldn't.

He kissed her. …Squarely on the lips. It didn't last long, but it was enough, considering the also-traditional hug.

She refused to give Sasori another point, because this could just as easily be explained away as made into a big deal.

"It's a custom," she interjected before Sasori could make an _ob_jection. "A greeting."

The look he gave her was so loaded down with skepticism it almost hit the floor before it reached her. It didn't translate directly into words, but it didn't need to.

"Ah, Little Eris," Tsuboya crowed cheerfully, beaming at her once he released her from his ghostly embrace. "How have you been these… How long have I been dead, exactly?" he added, his smile faltering.

Eris didn't answer him directly. Instead, she turned slightly. "Hey, Michiko," she called, waiting out of a rare strain of courtesy until the blind girl pinpointed the source of her voice. "Look at this: yours come back after a few days, but mine take more than 300 years. Do you think that's really fair?"

Michiko smirked back and shook with a silent laugh. "Karma, Eris. It's gotta be karma."

She had not expected any response of Michiko's to make her feel like laughing in her current situation, but the corner of her mouth turned up. It settled back down to its habitual flat line when Tsuboya finally realized he had been answered.

"… That long?" he asked weakly, as if he didn't expect them to answer. He stared at the floor a while, which was exaggerated by the fact that he was not actually touching said floor.

"So how _have_ you been?" he asked suddenly, smiling again. "You can't get out of it by surprising me."

Eris felt a grin creeping up on her, but she spotted it in time and took care of it in a way that wasn't really very caring at all. Stupid little grins were not going to help her now.

"I've been fine, Master Tsuboya. I've been basically alone up until these last… three years? Yes, three years or so, so I haven't had much of a chance to get into any trouble since you've been dead."

He was nodding slightly and still smiling. "Any interesting stories to tell? I remember you'd tell me everything that happened in the last several thousand years…?"

_Um, yes and no,_ she told herself. _I have stories to tell, but not to _you. "Not really, sorry. Nothing very interesting." Technically she could have told him about Deidara, but that would have required background information, and she didn't want to explain everything. Not right now.

He feigned a disappointed frown, but he wasn't very good at it. He was always smiling, no matter what. He had premature crow's feet around his eyes from laughing so much, and maybe a little bit from squinting while he stared into the sunset he was painting. They didn't make him look old, though – they made him look happy. It went along with his voice, which sounded like he was always on the brink of laughter.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Eris?" he asked expectantly. "I'm not a mind reader, like _some_ people."

"Memories, Master Tsuboya," she amended with a sigh. It was a familiar argument, and it was surprisingly comforting to go back to it. "I read memories, not minds. I feel minds."

"Sure, kid. Introductions now, before everyone else dies as well?" This brought on some laughs, though not many; this was, after all, a gathering of criminals.

"Well, um, okay," she muttered, shifting a little. "Master Tsuboya, this is Sasori, my… my close friend."

She had been expecting some sort of glare, but instead she received an affronted "What the hells was that for?" look. He saved his glare for Tsuboya, which had devolved from "threat" to something that said, "Target: Locked. Mode: Kill."

She responded with a lowering of her eyebrows that said, "Explain later, talk now."

Tsuboya was about to greet him, but his hand went right though him. He stared at it blankly for a moment before pulling it back to his side and blinking.

"You know, if you concentrate and imagine being solid, you can become more solid," Itachi suggested helpfully. Well, maybe he thought he was being helpful, but Eris already knew he was just stirring up trouble. She admired that.

To be honest, she hadn't really been expecting much to happen, because it was to be Tsuboya's first time attempting something even remotely resembling solidity. Of course, destiny would have her be surprised, because when Tsuboya closed his eyes it was like flicking a switch; he became solid instantly. Not just more solid, but _solid_, like he wasn't even dead.

Wow.

It was probably due to his imagination. Unlike Itachi, who lacked free will and creativity, Tsuboya let his imagination run away with him. Hells, knowing him he probably bribed his imagination to kidnap him.

She had no reason to be even more surprised when he hugged and kissed Sasori, but she couldn't help it. She knew it was just a customary greeting, but still. Living in a newer culture made it seem… _weird_. And the expression on Sasori's face made it seem weird and _hilarious_.

She would have been hard pressed to describe his reaction, because she was the type of person – _goddess_ – who was perpetually just beyond the word that would fit their ideas precisely. Something like outraged, or disgusted, or shocked, maybe even embarrassed… _Mortified! That_ was the word she was looking for: mortified.

_Sasori: 1. Eris: 1._

So when it was done Tsuboya just smiled, Sasori looked more shaken than Eris had ever seen him before, and Eris had to cough in order to disguise her laughter. Others were not as subtle, though. Like Maddie, who burst into full-blown guffaws. Itachi's reaction made her want to laugh even more, because he utterly failed to hide his smirk behind a translucent hand. "Sociable, isn't he?" she heard him mutter to Michiko, who looked completely nonplussed.

It was severely entertaining to watch as introductions were made and everyone received a chaste kiss – the chaos caused by that simple event alone would keep her going for _weeks_ – but when it was done she realized she had something not nearly as fun looming up in front of her:

Getting Sasori to believe that Tsuboya didn't mean anything to her anymore.

* * *

"What the crap," Sasori stated. Not a question, not even really a statement - his noncommittal tone turned those three words into just that: three words that happened to move into the space in front of the period.

Eris knew she had to speak and defend her actions, but she wasn't in the mood any longer. The disappointed look on Tsuboya's face when she had told him the Akatsuki was a criminal organization - the first time she had ever seen his constant smile disappear entirely - had crushed her. She desired only to fall into seclusion and ignore the world, but if she used that as her reason it wouldn't help her situation with Sasori one iota.

Thing is, she couldn't find a reason to defend herself. She had no will to speak at all, only wondering what would have happened if fate were not cruel enough to have her with criminals when her first real love returned. She did not get much time to dwell on such thoughts, because Sasori would not leave her alone.

She knew it had been a "blessing" when Sir Leader "decided" to "explain" in "great detail" the "inner workings" of the Akatsuki to Tsuboya. He owed her for numerous mind erasings and such, and he knew it, too. So he had "volunteered" to give her some well-deserved finagling time.

She could tell by all the quotation marks that Pein would just spend as long as he felt was necessary barefaced lying to Tsuboya and that he would expect some sort of payment in return. And if he became suddenly bored by the prospect, he would deem what time he had spent "necessary" and leave her to flounder once more.

But even with the incentive of little time in which to explain everything – at least, everything convenient – she could find no motivation to even _begin_ to speak.

What would be the point in even _trying_ to tell him what he needed to hear? She was The Goddess of Chaos and Destruction, for gods' sakes! He wasn't going to believe anything she said anyway, so why bother? She would just be wasting her breath… breath she was sure she would need later on.

Ha. That was funny.

Theirs was supposed to be a relationship with some love, but she couldn't even trust him to trust her… to trust him to trust her to trust him… blah blah blah she wasn't really thinking anymore, just finding great amusement in the paradoxical, never-ending line of thought.

"Well?" Sasori's voice demanded, dragging her kicking and screaming and fighting tooth and claw back into the real world. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Eris blinked. Her eyebrows frowned.

"What?" she asked herself. Then she realized he heard her, which meant she had to continue.

But she didn't _want_ to. She just wanted him to leave her alone and let her think for a while. But no, he wouldn't let her, would he? He demanded her immediate attention and what's more, he was _accusing her?_ He didn't say anything else but his _tone_ was accusing her of something. _Bastard!_

"What?" she reiterated, more harshly this time. "You're the one behaving like a three year old and you want to hear what _I _have to say for myself?"

His natural lazy scowl made itself more prominent. "Three year old? How do you _expect_ me to react to something like this?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe give me some time to explain before you blow a fucking _gasket?_" she asked sarcastically.

"So I should just assume this is normal behavior for you?" he returned, his tone surprisingly acerbic. "Some guy from 300 years ago shows up and The Goddess of Chaos melts into a hopeless puddle of babbling, puppy-like affection?"

She hadn't been that obvious, had she?

"I thought not."

"That's not fair!" she returned. She wasn't whining, just… pointing out the unfairness of his stupid judgment. She was a goddess; goddesses didn't _whine_. Goddesses got what they wanted. She wanted to be left alone, and in order to achieve said want she had to satisfy the new sub-desire to grind Sasori into the dust. Verbally speaking, of course.

"Fair? Life isn't about fair. Especially when your idea of life involves copious amounts of chaos and destruction." He paused, giving himself enough time for an ironic smile. "You seem to have escaped the repercussions of your actions for hundreds of thousands of years, so maybe it's just been building up all this time. I agree with Michiko."

"What?" she demanded. What the hells was he talking about? He could at least be a little more specific when taunting her. "Agree with what?"

He shrugged. "Karma's a bitch."

Eris blinked and drew her head back slightly. "No he's not," she admonished, her tone alone reprimanding him. "He's actually a pretty nice guy, except for the whole, y'know, backing the idea of banishing me thing." She grinned on the inside while still wearing a very serious, tight frown.

"…There's actually a God of Karma?" he asked incredulously.

"No, you idiot; I just wanted to see if you would believe me. And look, you did! Now _why_ don't you believe me when I say I don't love Tsuboya anymore?"

She kept her eyes trained on him, which would explain how she noticed his slight, slight wince. Otherwise she would have overlooked it entirely.

"What do you mean 'anymore'?"

_Crap_. Now she needed to put up a harsh front to make up for it and hope he didn't see through the façade. "What do you think it means? 'Anymore' as in, 'I used to but now I don't'? Isn't it sort of obvious?"

"Oh, that explains _so much_," he retorted, shooting her a half-hearted glare. She returned with her own questioning glance, which he answered, though the acid edge to his tone seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. "I think I saw the bulge of your heart trying to jump out of your chest when you saw him."

Eris couldn't help but grin. "That wasn't my heart, dolt. That's just how my chest is, seeing as I'm female." Her grin widened when he rolled his eyes.

"Not what I meant, and you know it."

"I know. It's just so much _fun_ to purposefully misconstrue everything you say and thus belittle you."

"You think that I don't understand what you say when you talk like that, but I know exactly what you're talking about. I even know why you do it; it's your own personal chaos."

"Yeah?" she retorted. "Then let me take a stab at how you ended up in such a pathetic state." She paused for a minute, as if thinking, but rally she was marveling over the fact that she hadn't rifled though his memories yet. Had it been out of some weak respect for privacy that she had left his mind untouched, unsullied by her probing mental fingers?

"I mean," she continued, "you must have had a pretty shitty childhood to end up like this. You have a feeble grasp within your desperate clinging to the few relationships you have to the people around you, so very unstable social development there. What was it, then? Child abuse?" she sneered, reaching into his mind with her eyes.

Her questions, of course, stirred the stagnant pool of his memories. And when stirred, the cream rises to the top.

So does the scum.

_Deadscaredalonenevercomingbackaloneunlovedpainsobaloneagainhollowdead_.

The words themselves didn't reach her, but the flashes of emotion were clear enough. Even the simple waves and flashes and brief tastes of an overwhelming sorrow splashed around and threatened to drown her.

And she had been _prepared_ for something horrible… What would something like that have done to a small child? A near-death experience by drowning can scare children enough into having them avoid large bodies of water their entire lives. In theory something similar could make one child in particular swear off emotions entirely for the rest of his miserable half-life…?

Losing one's parents could definitely slow psychosocial cognition and development. Even the mother, the end all and do all in caregivers, but the father as well? No way for junior to bond with daddy and get in touch with his masculine side, then.

Pity.

That was a problem: she couldn't pity him. Not right now. She needed to see him as an obstacle and something that needed to be attacked, not something worthy of sympathy. Why did he have to have such a depressing childhood? …It wasn't _her_ fault his life had gotten so screwed up! She had no _reason_ to feel guilt or sadness on his account!

Except that she wasn't exactly helping his current relationship, from which he most likely received some sort of solace and comfort, feeling loved.

_No. No pity, no feelings. Cold, ruthless, unempathetic. Brick wall, Eris. Blank and non-responsive. _

In her new state of utter control over everything that might have passed for an emotion, Eris left. She left through a wall and left Sasori alone with his pathetic life and dark memories.

She left to go find Master Tsuboya.

* * *

_And now go vote in the poll on my profile page. Seriously, before I sic Eris on you. :D_


	4. The Struggle

_Sorry I haven't updated in, like, FOREVER. Not that anyone really reads this story anyway, good gods. So, here is the next bit, which I slaved away at (not really) during my vacation. Have fun, single person who's continued reading this. (If you do read tis, I'd love to know who you are. Just because there was only one hit on the last chapter. TTTT)_

* * *

**The Struggle**

Sasori felt an unfamiliar quiver with each step he took, as if he might never reach the next step at all.

He wasn't supposed to feel like this. He wasn't supposed to feel at all. He had fixed this so he wouldn't feel. He had fixed it so he would never feel again. At least, not physically. Emotions seem to have slipped through before he shut the door all the way. Tricky little things, weren't they? They were persistent enough to follow him, even after he had sworn them off.

Because, to be perfectly honest, this _was_ familiar.

This horrible emptiness, almost like a void except worse, because at least in a void nothing would hurt. Everything would be a peaceful nothingness – not a ringing, hollow ache.

The pain was familiar. As if everything were hanging on the brink of agonizing death, because death would be too good for him. He was allowed to wallow in freakish misery, awaiting a release from the damning pain.

Except, there probably wouldn't be one this time. Unloved, alone… Sometimes he wondered whether the simplicity of death would have been much more welcoming. It wasn't like he had _chosen_ to come back. His own grandmother had chosen to kill him…

He wasn't supposed to feel this way. Insufferable, unlovable…

There was no foundation for his sense of total rejection. Eris was supposed to love him. She had been the one to demand his return, after all (or at least, that's what she advocated. He couldn't really be sure seeing as he hadn't actually been himself – and souls don't have ears.) The least she could have done was cease to torment him on a daily basis. Could have focused more on him instead of sowing chaos throughout the seams of Deidara's once-now-no-longer miserable life.

Ha, that felt better. A feeling tantamount to anger – indignance – washed away all traces of sorrow.

How dare she? How dare she bring him back and then discard him like an old shoe? She was supposed to love him! And he, despite all the evidence, loved her, too! There was no room for questions or doubts: she loved him. She _had_ to love him. He didn't think he could go back to being a normal seasoned criminal if she didn't.

But he wouldn't have to, because she did. He would just have to remind her, that's all.

And so it was that he set off in search of Eris, who had most likely gone off to sulk or blow up more flies. She couldn't be that hard to find, right? After all, how many goddesses were there just wandering around aimlessly, making insects explode?

He wandered – for the most part – aimlessly, passively searching for Eris, the poison apple of his glassy eye. He made next to no progress, what with his pathetic excuses for steps forward. Even the process of "one foot in front of the other" had taken on a whole new dimension.

It would be a simple matter. She was the one who had dragged him back from the abyss of death, so she obviously wanted him back. Obviously. …Right? Nothing would ever change that. Ever. _…Right?_

_No, stop it, _he told himself, biting his tongue. It didn't do much on it's own, seeing how he couldn't feel it, but he could imagine feeling it, thus distracting himself momentarily. _Now is not the time to recess from reality._

It was harder without Eris around. He could just devolve into silent worthlessness without her to demand loudly and physically his return to the active world around him. He found it despairingly easy to get lost in his own mind and search for the way out until he stumbled across an unexplored idea and followed it, completely unaware of the fact that while he pondered the random thoughts that swam though his head Eris was alone. Sometimes it took ages to come back even with her help.

It always gave him a feeling he had silently accomplished something, though exactly what he was never quite sure. He usually didn't even remember what he had been thinking about, like the dreams he used to have back –

No, memories were eliminated the moment they dared showed themselves. They were useless baggage and only weighed him down.

He blinked, only to discover that he was now on the other side of the base. Oh, the cruel irony: he had recessed again while pondering the recessions.

It took him a moment to process the new location, but he came to the conclusion that he was now on the east side of the base, closer to the kitchen. So much had happened in that kitchen. In fact, as he thought about it, it was with no small amount of satisfaction that he realized there was hardly a room in the base that he and Eris had not christened in some unconventional manner. A small grin latched onto the corner of his mouth and refused to let go.

It relinquished its hold with a strangled gurgle when he found Eris.

She was there, in the last place he would have thought to look: the main hall. It was so blatant and out in the open, he had just assumed she wouldn't like it very much. Obvious wasn't really her style. Nevertheless, she was there very obviously now, floating close to the floor. It wasn't the fact that she was there that made his mouth fall into a flat line, though.

It was the fact that she wasn't alone.

That Tsuboya was there, and they were… _talking_. His brazenly non-transparent fingers kneaded her shoulders, chin resting on top of her head, and they were _talking!_

That didn't last long, though; when they spotted him simultaneously the conversation died.

He did not wish to be crushed. He would not be crushed. Just because he felt his sorry excuse for a heart stutter and the missing beat echo with a loud silence inside the hollow cavity that was his chest didn't mean he was crushed. Fight or flight kicked in, and the indignant rage that flared up pushed against all chances of being crushed looming up at him.

"Well, well, well. When did you two get to be so affable, hm?" He got a slight sense of satisfaction in seeing the same indignance he felt shoot across Eris' face, even if she had no right to it. After all, it wasn't like he hadn't hurt _her_, was it? _No_. Had he stabbed through _her_ shell and left _her_ alone and exposed with her heart bleeding out? _No._ Had he raked _her_ most painful memories to the surface of her mind and then traipsed off to go chat up some reappeared dead lover while _she _wallowed in misery? _No!_

_He_ was the victim here, not _her_. _She_ had no _right_ to be indignant! _She_ wasn't the one suffering, _was_ she? Oh, no, _she_ was the one making _him_ suffer. He had suffered in silence for his entire life, what with one thing and another and his general drowning in the world around him metamorphosed into a complete and cold detachment. The hard core of pain had never warranted enough attention to be properly dealt with, instead shoved aside and locked away in a dark room with all the other emotions that might have tried to jump to the forefront of his mind. And he had accomplished this all on his own, with no knowledge of the silent transformation being transferred to those relatively close to him. Not even Granny Chiyo had picked up exactly what was happening to him until (at the risk of thinking in clichés) it was too late for her to do anything about it.

And he was sick of the silence.

"And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" Eris inquired with a slight scowl gracing her features.

"I thought it was rather clear."

"Oh, aren't we the clever one? In case you've forgotten, I've known Tsuboya much, _much_ longer than I've known you."

"And just in case _you've_ forgotten, he's been dead for most of that time." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tsuboya squirming slightly at being discussed. It made him grin.

"I'd be glad to wipe that smirk off your face with the floor," Eris snapped. "And at least he doesn't _act_ like he's dead." This was accompanied by a pointed glare. Was that supposed to be particularly significant somehow?

"What the hells is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I thought it was rather clear," she sneered back. "He still does normal things, like actually _talking_ and stuff. About _normal _things."

"And what constitutes as normal for you? Back rubs? Oh, that's just too heartwarming!" he cooed, clasping his hands over his heart and sighing.

"…Sasori, you're scaring me."

The uncertainty in her tone transformed his smile into a smirk, and he gave her a sardonic look from the very corners of his eyes. "Good. That's what I do best." His hands fell back to his sides and curled slightly, and his eyes frowned while his mouth smirked. "You, however, seem to specialize in traipsing off and having cozy little conversations with others while getting a _massage_. …I was left alone with my thoughts again. Do you have any idea how disturbing it is in here?" he demanded, tapping his forehead.

"I'm sorry," Tsuboya muttered, ducking his head. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong. It's just, we were talking, and Eris was very tense and rolling her shoulders more than usual…"

Sasori snorted. Playing contrite in a pathetic attempt to divert his anger wouldn't help. If anything it fed the fire. Honestly, what kind of cowardly worm was he? Any more gutless and he'd be dead… except he already was. A gutless worm, he was, that needed to be stomped on.

"_I'll_ rub her shoulders if her shoulders need rubbing!" he snarled, crossing over to them in two large strides. His hands came up of their own volition and shoved the solid ghost away, startling him into transparency and propelling him through the wall. He caught a brief expression of disbelief on the specter's face, which gave him no end of satisfaction.

He got a phantom feeling when his hands met the resistance of Eris' skin. "Is this where it hurts?" he growled softly, rolling the pressure of his fingers along the inner curves of her shoulders. He had to do the best he could to guess; he couldn't really tell where she hurt. Never had been able to, never would.

"It is now that you've dug your claws into it," she answered tartly, giving a slight wince as well.

"Sorry," he mumbled reluctantly as he pulled away, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of knowing he had done something wrong. When she jerked away and pivoted in midair he did notice that blood was beginning to bead in certain little crescent moon shapes along both her shoulders. "I didn't mean to…"

"No, no," she interjected, tone mordant, "that's okay. I could use some physical pain to balance out the inner turmoil."

* * *

_Yes, the ending is made of fail. I just thought you'd like something, you rascally one viewer, you. I'll keep you in suspense._


End file.
